Pride, Week 3: Medusa
The Gangsta Goddess of LA hip-hop on homophobia & misogyny in rap, censorship, gentrification, and the word "nigga"
The profile below of Medusa, an OG of L.A. hip-hop who’s coolly slid into elder stateswoman status without sacrificing any of the bite or grit that fueled her early career, first appeared in the LA Weekly in the 2007 Best of LA issue. We discussed her start at Project Blowed in Leimert Park, the gentrification of Leimert Park (already a volatile issue two decades ago,) the homophobia and misogyny of hip-hop, her stint in jail, and co-parenting the son of her publicist. We also tackled some of the hot issues roiling hip-hop at the time – the alleged “death of hip-hop,” the efforts of C. Delores Tucker to rein in what she deemed the poisonous aspects of hip-hop and their effects on Black youth, and non-Blacks using the word nigga.
Medusa was born twice. The self-described gangsta goddess of hip-hop was first and literally born in the city of Los Angeles, and then spent her childhood in Pomona and Alta Dena. After a year-long stint in prison almost fifteen years ago, she was reborn – creatively, spiritually – in the heart of the legendary Good Life Café / Project Blowed hip-hop scene in Leimert Park. A stalwart on the local LA music scene with her music collective Feline Science, she’s perhaps best known for her womanist anthem, “Power of the P,” as well as for a high-velocity live stage show which she performs regularly at Temple Bar and Club Fais Do Do. She’s appeared in a slew of hip-hop documentaries, acted onstage and had a large part in the HBO prison drama, Stranger Inside. With three different projects tentatively set to drop this year, she’s on a career high and recently sat down to talk with the LA Weekly about the gentrification of her neighborhood, misogyny in hip-hop, the early years of Project Blowed and more.
What part of LA do you live in now?
Leimert Park, the artist’s colony of LA! I’ve been there for almost twelve years now. I pay $671 for a two-bedroom. [For non-Angelenos: that’s one of the deals of the century.] I love my place – it’s got the sunken living room and the roomy upstairs… It’s a nice spot. I feel like once I achieve a certain level I’d really like to buy the building. I would hate for it to go to someone that wouldn’t appreciate it.
Why do you live in that part of town?
Because it’s not just an artist’s colony to me. It has the heartbeat of LA’s rich black heritage and I feel it necessary to be there to harness the energy, to bring people to it. You gotta understand, I got outta jail and started going to the Good Life Café, and from the Good Life Café I was introduced to Leimert Park. It’s been like a mother and a father to me, being over there. I’ve grown there. I was there at the beginning of [the coffeehouse] 5th Street Dicks, you know what I mean? So, for Richard [Fulton, the late owner of 5th Street] to pass away, God bless his soul… [She pauses.] Yeah, there’s just a lot of beautiful energy there.
There’s some tension in Leimert Park now with the moves being made toward gentrification. Some longtime residents feeling like they’re being steamrolled. What’s your take on what’s happening?
If you’ve had control of your community for a certain amount of time in this socialization of America, and if you haven’t upgraded or gotten it to achieve a certain level to where it’s profitable or seems profitable from the outside looking in, then eventually the powers-that-be are gonna come in and take it and make it what they think it should be. We were comfortable in it as an artist’s community but at the same time, there was a level it needed to achieve and it wasn’t. I think the threat of [gentrification] has made us actually pay more attention to what we have. That’s how I look at it.
Let’s roll back a minute. You mentioned jail. How long were you in, and what were you in for?
I was locked up for about a year. It felt like forever. For falsified papers, you know – fraudulent documents, counterfeit. All those mini-hustles I was doing before. I had to sit my ass down and think about what I was gonna do with my life. It made me really hone in on who I was as an artist. I was already there in high school, pop-locking and writing rhymes, writing poetry and music. I was around my aunt when I was young – she’s Billie Calvin. She wrote “Wishing On a Star,” by Rose Royce. She was always involved with the Norman Whitfield camp, the Motown vibe. I grew up around that. It was really my love. You know, when you get outta high school, you’re just trying to be all you can be. I started hustling, hanging with the wrong people and ended up in a spot where I had to sit down.
After I sat down for a minute, I said okay, this is my focus – this music, this writing. And I wrote some incredible things while I was locked up. I came out and my cousin Coco took me to the Good Life Café. That’s where I met Fat Jack and Aceyalone, Abstract Rude and Volume 10 and Xzibhit. It was an incredible start for me.
What was the first rap record you heard?
“Rapper’s Delight!” [Laughs]
Were you an immediate convert or did you have to be won over?
Immediately. It was sick. I was living in Pasadena at the time. Pop-locking and locking was the thing. I was rolling from a pop-locking rehearsal, going home, and the song came on the radio. My mom and dad were talking and I kinda reached over and turned the radio up. I was like, wait a minute, is this guy kicking in paragraphs? Is he kicking in sentences that are rhyming and it’s bouncing? That was the sickest shit I’d ever heard.
Who were some of your early musical influences?
Aretha Franklin, Earth Wind & Fire, the Isley Bros., Jimi Hemdrix. I love Carole King’s writing, Phoebe Snow. The list goes on.
How do those influences manifest in your work?
I can’t shake the feeling of that time. It’s united. It’s comforting, soulful. It’s free. It’s a special part of who we are as a people, music from that time in American pop. The lyrics from that time are what got me to write the way that I do. To be as free and open, to express not just my perspective but everyone’s perspective. Also, groups back then invested in themselves. They made their own costumes, developed their own stage show, their own tour – whether it be the chitlin’ circuit or whatever. I really respect that. And in dealing with my aunt, who was in a group called Undisputed Truth…
Really? I love them…
Yeah, yeah, yeah! “Smiling Faces,” right? Yeah! They were on tour with the Jackson Five and my aunt took me on the Cali part of the tour – Frisco, LA. I was blown away being backstage and seeing the whole movement of the stage, the prepping of the stage beforehand and sound-check. I was done. I’m six, seven years old. Ever since then, I was like, this is what I wanna do. And during that time you had the afros and the velvet pictures, the whole nine. Do you know I cannot get away from that? To this day, in my home I got velvet pictures everywhere. It’s a feeling.
When did you start rapping?
When I was thirteen, fourteen, I wrote my first rhyme. Being down with a crew, you can’t do just the one thing so I was pop-locking. I could break-dance. I can hit a windmill or two. And then I had a couple of rhymes I could spit.
From the documentary This is the Life, directed by Ava DuVernay
And when did you actually feel that you could really call yourself a rapper – having earned the stripes?
That would be about twelve years ago, maybe fifteen.
Really, that deep into doing it?
Yeah, starting in the scene at the Good Life. It made me realize what hip-hop was at the time. I always felt dope but I felt seasoned when I started with the band, when I wrote outside of just myself and when I could affect the crowd and really make a difference in someone’s life. And that was all about twelve years ago.
I ask that because there’s the school of thought that says that when you start out, you should say, “I am a writer,” “I am a director,” “I am a dancer” or whatever… but my own belief is that you have to earn it, put in the work and the time.
Right. You really do. There is a seasoning that goes on. It’s just like them trying to give Christina Aguilera the same credit or status as Aretha Franklin. You can’t do that. [Laughs] Yeah, I always felt that way. My ego didn’t get the best of me. I knew that it took me earning my way, being in cyphers, doing a lot of free shows and just showing people who I am.
In the early days, was your gender a handicap?
I get asked that question all the time and maybe it’s ‘cause of how I grew up or just the type of person I am – being a Pisces, moving around a lot and dealing with a lot of different cultures and genders and what have you, with males being the predominant force of my friendships – I never felt slighted because I was a woman. I always had a certain respect. Maybe it’s because I respected myself that much. Back in the day, when I stepped in the cypher, nobody dissed me. If anything, they were afraid of the competition. I never looked at it as a gender thing. I really didn’t. And with me being from a pop-locking world – this is LA – when I pop-locked in the day, you battled the brothers and you better be hard. You better hit, your shit better be tight. I never wanted something because I was a girl. I didn’t want you to look at me like that. I wanted to get down with the brothers.
Where do you fall in the “Hip Hop is Dead” argument?
I think when they say hip-hop is dead, they mean a certain attitude that was in hip-hop. You can’t say hip-hop is dead ‘cause hip-hop is running things. But the attitude of just speaking about politics… I go back to that thing of hip-hop being ‘Human beings harboring opinions of politics and propaganda.’ That was hip-hop. I think people are missing the little nooks and crannies that pop shit about politics and propaganda. It’s not like it’s not there. It’s just not put in the forefront of the music right now. That’s only because the powers that be did that. They don’t realize that the roots of hip-hop came from a knowledge base. It came from a space of sharing. It was a way of communicating, to let you know this is how we’re livin,’ how are you livin’? It was our smoke signal, so to speak. Now it’s turned into a fashion statement. But I think people like Mos Def and Common, people like that – even Erykah Badu – are definitely making a change. I think the whole gangsta perspective – it’s not that it’s done but it’s taken its toll and it’s like, okay, what’s new? C’mon y’all talk to me.
How do you feel about the use of the word nigga?
Well, me hangin’ wit a gang of guys most of the time… [She laughs.] I understand the endearing term that they’ve developed from that. For me, the word nigga has been ours and we’ve been using it for so long, it’s kinda like abortion. You can’t give us that option and then years later try to take it away. It is now a part of the way we move and motivate. It’s a part of choice. [It’s been] our choice all this time to use it, flip it and make it the way we want to – it’s hip, it’s slang and it’s a term of endearment when these cats use it, so I understand it. But I also understand that when other forces become involved, they always try to separate us somehow and the best way to [do that] is by our language. That’s just the way it’s been throughout our history. So, don’t try to separate us now because of one word. If anything, our elders and youth need to all come together to understand where that comes from, how it got that way and move on. You can’t stay stuck in a word.
But what we do have to understand, as Black people, is that when you use the word nigga in the presence of other cultures, if you leave, I’m left the nigga. When y’all are all outta the room, after all them niggas done fluttered around the room and I’m by myself with these other cultures, I’m left the nigga. So, they have to understand that, too. It’s a time and a place for our language. You’re not gonna speak the same language at a job interview as you would when you’re with your homies hangin’ out.
Hip-hop is now a global thing but it’s also very much a Black thing. Do you see a connection between the state of Blackness in America right now and the current state of hip-hop?
Whatever it is that we are not owning up to, they try to take it and flip it back in our face. I look at all the pop artists that are using rap in their shit now and trying to be hip, it’s just like any white boy or Latin kid that I grew up with in school. They looked at the few blacks who were in school to come show them what the new cool was, what the new fashion was. So, when they’re doing it blatantly in front of us, it’s just them trying to figure it out: I want that cool. I want that hip. And they got it. And they not gon’ give us props on it until we give ourselves props on it and stop being mad about them trying to mimic and imitate us when they’ve done that all our lives. I mean, how could you be mad? Shit! If anything, let me get involved and show you how this really is, show you how real it is so that you won’t want to mimic it, you’ll only want to appreciate it. That’s the stance that we have to take. And until we are real enough with ourselves, really appreciate and respect ourselves enough to show our all, our full spirit – because there’s spirit involved in this – if you’re going to be mad at it on one hand, but not speak your full potential on the other hand, then who is to blame?
How, in your view, did we go from the pro-Black, politically conscious rap being on front street to having the more progressive or political rap – which still exists – so marginalized?
I think it was the lack of anger management with gangster rap. When gang-banging came into it, it turned it into something else. Because it was put out there on such a mass level and it was something so taboo, so bad boyish. I mean, that’s America’s thing: Love the bad boy. So, when that came and it was the new black to be, we lost focus. Everybody wanted to be it. If you weren’t it, then you weren’t the cool anymore so you became it. And I think we’re trying to shift that right on back. ‘Cause I know a lot of cats from the NWA camp and what have you, and they weren’t really bangin’ the way they were portraying in the media. And we’re all still really like children in the sand-box. People wanna be in, they wanna be liked. It’s like, I see my 7-year-old, Angel, right now going through that. Got some boys down the street, baaaaad as I don’t know what. But he likes hanging out with them because they are rough, they are that other side of him that he would like to express – being naughty, being sneaky, being gangsterish. And he wants to experience that. And that’s cool. But let’s not forget the other side of you. When gangster rap came in, they forgot the other side of themselves. That’s all that is. ‘Cause the other side is just as nurturing, just as loving, desires companionship and love, you know what I mean? I’m just saying, if you’re gonna do that, show who you are completely. C’mon, give it all up.
Talk to me about Angel. I didn’t know you had a child…
[Beaming] Actually, Lady Rah and I. That’s her son. I call him my little man. He’s been living with me for about a year and a half and he’s like this incredible realization of myself. It’s like, if you thought you lost touch with the child in you, just kick it with a six or seven-year-old. You’ll be like, ‘Oh my God, I’ve been taking life far too serious.’ He sees it so beautiful. It’s incredible. That’s really lightened my heart lately. ‘Cause dealing with the music scene, the industry, can make your heart a little heavy. You can get disenchanted but an energy like that makes you lighthearted.
How should I identify Lady Rah in this piece?
As my personal assistant and my publicist.
Cool. I was recently in a hip-hop chat room and there was a guy who was quite vehement in defending misogyny and homophobia in rap. He kept insisting that there had never been any serious female artists in hip-hop, that it was very much a hetero male expression, and that women hadn’t and likely wouldn’t ever really claim a place of real artistry in it, and that there was no room for gays and lesbians in it either…
[Shaking her head incredulously.] Oh! Oh! Oooo! Wow! I mean, it goes right back to gang banging. There are a lot of male chauvinists in this world and if there’s a tone set for them in childhood, then they’re pretty much gonna stick with that tone. And someone like that really doesn’t understand the power and strength of a woman. It’s going to continue to be a kind of a battle but realistically, women run this. And not just from a feminist perspective. We are the only ones that can give birth. We are the nurturers, we are the healers. If the music needs to be healed, then why wouldn’t you let us in to help you do that? And I’m a part of the new movement now. I am the Gangsta Goddess. I am starting the Gangsta Goddess movement. ‘Cause women can be submissive. A lot of them will hear stuff like that guy is saying and it’ll affect them in a way so that they will take a step back, being unsure of their power. But the Gangsta Goddess movement is about, okay, you’ve been a goddess for so long, now ladies it’s time to put your foot down. It’s time to talk a little shit. It’s time to let people know what it is you really want. Because women think a lot, but they don’t speak what they truly feel…
Or what they truly know…
Exactly. So, now it is that time. And a brotha like that is afraid of that time. Because somewhere in his life, a woman didn’t take a strong enough stance to show him that power and put the gangsta goddess down on him. So, he’s just been running amok with the homies thinking this is the way to think. There’s a lot of those.
Talk a bit more about the Good Life, Project Blowed, 5th Street Dix, the history of that era.
Yeah, wow. Man. I didn’t have a car during that time so my local neighborhood was everything to me. I would even go up here before the shops opened and kick it with the shop cleaners. I just wanted to know. I think they became so family oriented that they almost didn’t see the outside getting bigger. They got a little comfortable. It was always a beautiful thing because you could have jazz going on, on the corner, and poetry going in the middle of the block, and then hip-hop going on around the corner. It was always a rhythm, always a vibe, and it was constant. I think we all got a little lost in that and didn’t realize that everything else was getting so large and could possibly swallow us up. I think right now, everybody in Leimert Park is getting on their Ps and Qs because they don’t want to see that gentrification and they know that it’s possible. Instead of fighting it, they’re finding smart ways to become a part of it so that they’re not eliminated. Because what’s most important is that vibe, and nobody wants to lose that. So, I think Leimert Park is working very hard to maintain that for future generations.
We need to come together, and what you don’t specialize in, really admit that that’s not your specialty, and hire people that do specialize in grant writing, in writing business proposals, to have in the community. We got a lot of love, a lot of heart, but it’s that business savvy that we need to bring into the community to really salvage and save it. There are people from the outside looking at it, pointing at it, dissecting what is wrong, but if you don’t bring your ass from Beverly Hills or Hollywood or your corporate headquarters to come sit in and bring something to it where we can all grow, then shut up.
Let’s go back to hip-hop ‘cause we were on a certain line of thought that I want to explore more. The last few years has seen a mounting urgency on the part of certain hip-hop fans, especially a lot of black folk, to really challenge the materialism and more reactionary, regressive politics. Why do you think the push is coming now?
Because they’ve run out of street options. If you’ve already run through all the gangsta, all the watered down rap, the only thing left is the real, the pure. You can only funnel through the bullshit for so long. Now, we’re all that’s left. And there are a lot of people that are just putting their foot down. Also, you grow. You’re different at 30 than you were at 18. If Pac and Biggie had lived long enough, we would have seen a change in them too, in their music. So, I think it’s just a coming of age.
Do you think people like C. Delores Tucker got a bum rap?
Well, in any conversation it’s always the temperature that you bring. Wordsmiths know how to manipulate their words appropriately to get their point across. And I think that’s kinda what we’re finding now in hip-hop. Wordsmiths who are saying, ‘Wait a minute. There’s a different way that I can express this.’ So, if she’d had the right temperature, she probably could’ve gotten that across. [Chuckles.]
At what point, if any, does the claim that an artist is merely reflecting reality as opposed to shaping it lose credibility?
If you’re only reflecting a piece of your reality, then you’re cheating yourself and your audience. Because there’s no way you can make me believe that every woman in your life is a ho or a bitch. There’s no way you can make me believe that. And if you know that to be the truth, then you have to find a different space – and once again, we’re talking about seasoning, a coming of age – but you need to find a different space to talk about how fly your mama is or how fly your auntie is. It’s a balance.
Just recognize that some of these strippers and some of these so-called video hos are putting themselves through school, they’re taking care of business. So, if you’re gonna speak on them at all, at least find out who they are so you can speak on them from a different perspective. Let us understand deeper about that dancer, that shaker, you know what I’m saying?
What do you think of when you hear the terms conscious rapper and backpacker?
[She laughs.] That’s funny. That’s part of why I started the Gangsta Goddess thing. ‘Cause a lot of people would be like, ‘Oh, Medusa, she’s a poet. She’s a conscious rapper.’ And I was like, a conscious rapper? I mean, I accept the flattery because I am conscious in my rapping but there really is no difference in this game. Either you’re writing from a conscious level or a very surface level of thinking, whatever kind of rap style you do. And that surface level of thinking happens to the best of us. At the same time, if you’re gonna be conscious and only write conscious raps, that’s just like not admitting to yourself and everyone else the full spectrum of you. That’s how the gangsta goddess came into play. It was like, everyone thinks I’m just this conscious rapper but don’t let the smooth taste fool you. I grew up in LA. There’s a lil’ bit of gangsta in me too. There’s a little bit of both in all women. There is that balance.
What, in your opinion, is the biggest misconception about the West Coast, specifically Los Angeles? I think a lot of people outside LA don’t realize how hard a place this can be.
For real. Just the attitudes alone. [She laughs.] It’s not even a danger factor, you getting shot or something. It’s more like an attitude factor. If you are not the right person in a particular sector, then you gon’ get a hard time. Period. Black, white, Latino – it don’t matter. It’s not a color thing. It’s just, ‘I ain’t never seen you before. Who are you?’ LA is strong with that. And LA heads carry that wherever they go. They so cold wit’ it. Mean-mugging’ is a profession out here, you know what I mean? It’s interesting, though, because there is a softer side, too, that people don’t get to see. I’m sure that a lot of places think it’s just a white tee-shirt convention out here, that it’s just bangin,’ and that’s a total misconception. That’s how our young dudes end up getting shot, because of the misconception that your white tee-shirt and your khakis make you a banger. But yeah, if you come out here and think you just gon’ slip in and it’s gon’ be easy, we’re real protective of our areas. We’re real protective of our neighborhood, our people, our children. We funny style. We gotta really know you. And we’re so locked in our neighborhoods and our people that we’re almost afraid to get to know you. Out here, we’re so scared to smile at each other or just have some open conversation. I’ve been in so many places and had wonderful conversations with strangers. Out here, it’s like pulling eye-teeth. We gotta feel you.
And the biggest misconception about West Coast rap? A lot of people still reduce West Coast rap to just Dre or banging. The fact that there are scenes from the Bay Area to Long Beach, that you have the Good Life tradition and aesthetic, all that gets ignored…
Well, that’s the difference between hip-hop and rap sometimes. They’re not saying West Coast hip-hop, they’re saying West Coast rap. And the media exploited that so tough. I mean, that is a part of us but that’s not the entirety. And I think right now, there is a shift happening. I think West Coast hip-hop is going to become exposed – Dilated Peoples, Blackalicious, Zion-I. That time is coming. And if West Coast rap does not embrace that as its own, we’re getting to the point where we’re not looking for [them] to embrace us anymore. We’re gonna take matters in our own hands. We’re realizing that we are a force within ourselves and we’re not begging to be signed. We know that we have an independent movement that can happen on its own. A lot of us are finally coming together that have never been together before. As long as I’ve been down with the Good Life or Project Blowed, I haven’t done a song with Aceyalone. These are things that are happening now. Before, we were looking for the deal, looking to be accepted. Now, it’s not about that. And if west coast rap does not embrace it, it’s gon’ blow up without ‘em. But they really need to make that happen. The Snoop Doggs and the Dr. Dres need to work with the Aceyalones and Blackalicious. Put the funk behind these cats. Ain’t gon’ hurt nobody.
How does living in Los Angeles shape you and your work?
You know, I deal with so many different types of people and they affect me in so many wonderful ways that I try to make it a point to give to those folks when I do my music. So, it’s shaped me to be a chameleon and it’s allowed me to be extremely open to all aspects of people. It’s made me more well rounded as a person and an artist.
Is a major label deal something you’d be interested in?
Mmmmmmm… yes. But we all know what that major deal is for. It’s really for promotion. It’s for ultimate exposure because only they have the money to put behind you for that worldwide exposure. And if you’re an artist, your goal should be to get heard worldwide so that your work reaches as many ears as possible. I would be signed but I don’t want to give up creative control. I will share creative control with the people I create with. I am looking to be pushed and promoted, not bought and sold. So, I would have to have a thorough understanding with that label – no, I am not a child and you are not doing an artist development deal. You’re really just backing a plan of attack that I already have. Don’t treat me like I don’t know where the money goes or how much things cost.
For the uninitiated, what is “Feline Science”?
It started out as a collective of women but now it’s men and women. Whoever can come together and respect the nine lives. And the nine months that you have to spend in the womb, growing. If you are connected to the universe and you respect that nine months of growth and you respect the nine lives that we kinda live as broken people in this world, ‘cause you can almost name all your different personalities, and I’ve gotten up to nine. So, it’s all of those things. And also, felines are some cunning and surviving creatures. They heal themselves. They’re self-contained. They suck some gutter water and get faded with the best of them, but at the same time clean their coats and walk the streets with pride.
What projects are you working on right now?
I’m working on a Gangsta Goddess project right now with some cats from Hussle House. Working on a Bonnie & Clyde project that’s coming out incredible. Two different projects with two different vibes. And then I have a vibe that I’m doing called Nine Lives that’s more of an underground hip-hop vibe. I have a single called “Dusty Ball Drop” that drops in May. This is me telling the brothas, ‘We tired of seeing the sistas drop it like it’s hot. I wanna see the brothas do the dusty ball drop.’ ‘Cause I been in the clubs where the brothas have the boxers bouncing,’ doing a little stripper dance, so I’m like, okay, I got something for you. I hope to put together a video with some krump dancers ‘cause they’re the only ones that can really put it down.
What do you not like about LA?
Just the way people can be very distant. It’s such a big place and it’s such a hustle that sometimes you don’t stay as connected with your people as you should. Sometimes people don’t support in LA like they should. Because everybody’s an artist. They stand in the crowd looking from a competitive perspective instead of enjoying your show. That’s bullshit. I wish people could be more open, love each other a little bit more. Drop the fear. Drop the cloak and dagger.
What do you love about LA?
I love Leimert Park. [Laughter] And LA really is a melting pot. There are so many different types of people. Anything you want to know about a culture, you can probably find it repped somewhere here in LA. I love the weather. And the food. Man, you cannot beat what we have going on out here in terms of world cuisine. We are winning with that. And when we do open up to you, we are beautiful people.
Medusa in an Instagram post from 2023, clapping back at people who’d been disrespectful in the comments.